A Conspiracy of Friends Chapter 65: A Generous Gesture

A Conspiracy of Friends is the third novel in Alexander McCall Smith's
Corduroy Mansions series, exclusive to Telegraph.co.uk.

Rupert

By Alexander McCall Smith

9:00AM GMT 10 Dec 2010

William considered Basil Wickramsinghe to be the ideal neighbour: quiet, courteous and helpful. In fact, the only respect in which the domestic arrangements in Corduroy Mansions could be improved upon, he thought, would be if Basil Wickramsinghe were to move from the ground-floor flat to the flat immediately below his own, and if Caroline and the girls - there was a boy now, too, he noticed - were to move into the ground-floor flat in place of Basil. This view was not formed by any antipathy to Caroline or her flatmates; it was just that there were occasions, and not many at that, when he heard a bit of noise coming from the flat below. Basil, by contrast, was as quiet as a church mouse.

’Mr Wickramsinghe!’ William exclaimed when he answered the door that evening. ’Do come in, please. This is a rare honour!’ ’I do not like to disturb you,’ said Basil. ’I hope that this isn’t inconvenient.'

’Of course it’s not inconvenient. Come in, come in. May I offer you something? A glass of something?’ ’Last time I was here you gave me an extremely delicious glass of wine,’ said Basil. ’It had a nutty flavour, as I recall.'

’That will have been Madeira,’ said William. ’Very suitable to be taken by the glass. That particular Madeira, I think, was recommended by my friend, Will Lyons. I don’t know whether you’ve read his column at all, but he knows what he’s talking about in my view. That was quite an old Blandy’s. None left, I’m afraid, but I can offer-’ ’Please don’t open anything special for me,’ said Basil.

It was typical of his neighbour’s self-effacing modesty, thought William; others would have no compunction in sampling the best thing on offer when visiting the flat of a wine-dealer.

Related Articles

’But I do have another Madeira, as it happens,’ said William. ’I’ll find it and we can sample it.'

William went to fetch the Madeira, returning with two generous glasses of an iodine-coloured liquid. Handing one to Basil, he raised his glass in a toast, which Basil reciprocated.

They sat together in the drawing room. To begin with, the conversation was mostly small talk. William asked what had been happening in the James VI and I Society, and Basil replied that there was very little going on. ’We’re mostly reactive,’ he said. ’We exist to protect the reputation of James. If anybody launches an attack, then we’re ready to defend his memory. But at the moment, nobody seems to have it in for him.'

’I know so little about him,’ mused William. ’It’s odd, isn’t it, how you find so few people these days who mention James I. You get a bit of discussion down at the pub about Charles I, and Charles II too. But James - nothing really.'

Basil looked disappointed. ’I would love to find a pub where these matters are debated,’ he said. ’It’s usually football. And I’m afraid I have no interest in that at all.'

’I don’t blame you,’ said William. ’All these prima donnas prancing about the football field. I thought it was meant to be a team game.'

’It’s the same with everything,’ said Basil. ’The cult of celebrity has infected everything.’ He paused. ’And their wives. People keep going on about footballers’ wives. Why not other wives? Mathematicians’ wives, for example. How about taking an interest in them?’ William laughed. ’The wives of mathematicians will surely be very different,’ he said. ’But I suspect that they won’t make such entertaining television.'

Basil nodded. ’Indeed,’ he said.

Then Basil glanced round the room. ’Where’s Freddie?’ he asked.

William looked down into his glass; the feeling of loss was every bit as raw as it had been when he drove down to London on that melancholy evening. ’Frankly,’ he confessed, ’I don’t know. He may be dead - in fact, I think he is.'

Basil was aghast. ’I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t-’ William brushed the apology aside. ’Nothing to apologise for,’ he said. ’You weren’t to know.'

Basil asked what had happened and received a full account of Freddie’s disappearance at the farm and the fruitless search that followed. ’I phoned the RSPCA,’ William went on. ’I put the word out, but no dogs answering his description have been handed in. So I fear that we’ve lost Freddie altogether - probably down a rabbit hole or something like that.'

Basil reached into his briefcase, which he had brought upstairs with him. ’Do you know this magazine?’ he asked, extracting The World of Dogs.

William glanced at the magazine and shook his head sadly. ’I can’t say I’ve ever seen it.’ He paused. ’Oh look, I’m not thinking of getting a replacement just yet. Freddie de la Hay is - or should I say was - the most wonderful dog. He will be a hard act for any dog to follow, I’m afraid.'

’My goodness, that’s a dead ringer for my Freddie. Look at it. He had a patch of colour right there, where this dog has. Perhaps they’re related - I can imagine that Pimlico Terriers are all related in one way or another.'

’I don’t see how you can say that,’ said William. ’Just because he looks . . . ’ He did not finish. Basil pointed to the side of the picture where the credits were set out, and William saw the initials: FDLH. ’I just don’t believe it,’ he said. ’I just don’t.'

’But it must be him,’ said Basil. ’Those are his initials, and I doubt that there is another dog in these islands who has the same combination of letters in his name. I think it’s an open and shut case.'

William looked at Basil, and smiled. ’Thank God for you,’ he said.

’Would you like me to track him down?’ said Basil. ’I have a few days off, and I would love to play the amateur detective. Please let me recover him for you. I’ll track down the photographer and get the name of the modelling agency or whatever. It’ll be plain sailing after that.'

William did not have to ponder this offer for long.

’I accept,’ he said. And he thought, You nice, nice man. You kind, helpful man. You generous, decent man.